Colors/Conflict

Red comes first, heat
among the rods and cones.
Then black, to hide
the humanity of the Other.
Yellow’s the final hue,
the cry of the flash as it
comes home.  We’ve got
red stripes, black ops,
yellow ribbons —
why does it feel like
we’re out of order?

Blue, blue water,
drenching fire; white, the
blank peace after.  Much
of the flag remaining
unused.  What do we see
when it waves?  We’re
the big bull.  Movement
and charge. 

I sit with my hand on my eyes.
Press hard on the sockets, bring up
red, call up black;
no yellow, no blue, no white.
Not now.  Only
the blind palette of hatred.
Only the colors of not feeling
the result.  It’s
exactly enough, like
a damned orgasm.